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walaskart · 5 months

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Those Green Eyes

Summary: Loki reaches out from beyond the timelines.

Loki x Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N I'm just trying to get out of my writing slump so I'm writing the first thing that comes to mind: my darkling Loki <3 Will there be a second part? Hopefully! I want to do it from Loki’s perspective. Also yes, this is cheesy because I like cheesy. Love y'all.

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He came in your dreams, disappearing the second your alarm startled you awake, reminding you of reality. Your life began to feel distant, like there was a part missing only those mischievous green eyes could fill. You rose from bed, rubbing your eyes and trying to grasp on to that laugh you heard last night as you slept. You can’t remember when it started, only how you felt the first time you felt his presence as you slept. As you make your morning coffee, you try to piece together the vague details you could still remember; long, ink black hair, long fingers, his fleeting laugh, those sparkling green eyes. His name. You knew his name it was on the tip of your tongue. L-

Later. Right now you had to focus on what's real, so you walk back to your bedroom, ignoring your unmade bed and picking out an outfit for another day at the antique bookstore you worked at. You picked a simple pink sweater and jeans, too heavy for the summer weather but perfect for the air conditioned store. Now finished with your mug of coffee, you grab your bag with everything you meed for the day and prepare to leave your apartment to start your walk to work.

As you walk down the busy streets of your tourist filled town, suddenly every person you saw reminded you of him. 'Those cheekbones look familiar' 'Those are his lips' 'That’s his hair'. Your eyes dart from person to person, trying to puzzle together the man in your dreams, almost like a collage of features. Though none of them had his eyes. Those effervescent green eyes. Tonight, you think to yourself, I'll look more closely.

Your whole shift, you're head is in the clouds as you answer questions and check out books. You've had dreams of strangers before, but why did he keep reappearing? Why is he stuck in your head? And why can't you remember? You interrogate yourself over and over until your shift ends, looking forward to crashing in bed and see his face once again.

By the time you get home and finish your dinner, you're ready for sleep, somehow feeling closer to him than usual. After your shower, you lie in bed and get as comfortable as you can and feel yourself drift into sleep. I'll see you soon, L-

Your eyes open, taking in your surroundings. Every night it's somewhere different, tonight you're in a field of grass and wild flowers. You look down to see you're wearing a green slip dress and no shoes. You feel the wind rush through your hair and everything returns to you. You remember.

"Loki!" You call, and begin running. You don't know where you're going but you know you'll find him. "Loki!!"

And suddenly there he is. Sitting under a tree in a loose green shirt and black pants, he hears your calls and looks to you with those beautiful green eyes. As he stands and smiles, Loki opens his arms for you to run into.

“My darling,” Loki chuckles as you are enter in his embrace and suddenly you remember every night you've spent with him now. Sitting together, sometimes talking, sometimes not. You remember his stories; his quest for a throne, his family, his adventures, his ending. You remember him listening to your stories of your bookstore in Salem, your search to adopt the perfect cat, your current novel you’re reading. You remember the places he’s taken you in your dreams; any place on Earth you ask for, Asgard, Yggdrasil. Every place was empty, except for the two of you. When you asked, Loki explained none of it was real, just him projecting an image into your dreams.

Tonight, there was no adventure, no stories. Just you and Loki resting in each other’s arms under the tree.

“Good morning, darling.” Loki chuckles and kisses the top of your head. You hear your alarm, quietly at first but slowly growing louder.

As Loki runs his hand through your hair, you think it’d be okay to forget every morning as long as each night you come back to this.

You look up at him and smile. “Until tomorrow night, Loki.”

As long as you come back to those beautiful green eyes.

#loki season 2 #loki x reader #reader insert #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #spoilers for season 2 #marvel #marvel fanfiction #loki laufeyson

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sheliesshattered · 6 months

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Sylki fic: When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Loki/Sylvie, 3200 words. Post s02e06 fix-it, angst with a happy ending. Also available on AO3 under the same title and username.

When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Sylvie wakes with Loki’s voice in her ears.

It’s been months since she last saw him, striding out to the Loom to save the timelines. Winter has come and gone, here in this little corner of a branch that she’s made her home. Every day that’s passed, she’s half expected to turn around and see him standing there, like that night he appeared in the parking lot next to her truck. But for months, there’s been nothing but the absence of him, growing larger and more crystalline every day.

She wakes with his voice in her ears, singing that ridiculous song from the train on Lamentis.

To Sylvie, everybody! he’d said, grinning at her, not drunk only too full. She would give anything to see him smile like that again. She would give anything to see him again.

And it isn’t that she hasn’t looked. Of course she had. She’d barely gotten through a single shift at McDonald’s after leaving Mobius standing outside his variant’s house before she’d used He Who Remain’s TemPad to try to find Loki.

He wasn’t dead. She knows he isn’t dead. But he also isn’t anywhere. There are an infinite number of branches now, layers of reality twisting around each other into something larger, a shape she can almost see, almost recognize. But Loki isn’t on any of them. No matter where she searches, he remains just outside her grasp.

Sylvie goes to work, she drives her truck home, she listens to music at the record store, she checks in on Mobius, she tries to sleep. But everywhere is marked by Loki’s absence, and every moment is overlaid with the sound of him singing.

She can’t find Loki, but that song is a thread she can pull at. Where did he learn it? The words were almost Asgardian, but not quite. Something similar, a branch of the original. A variant. Because of course it was.

It’s not until she thinks to quietly spy on the New Asgard settlement in Norway, forty years on from her quiet life in Oklahoma, that she hears the language again. Norwegian.

Remember this place, she hears Odin say, in a memory that is not hers, rippling through the interwoven timelines because it is what she needs in this moment. Home.

She turns her back on New Asgard, on the man who is almost but not quite her brother, on the Valkyrie who will come to lead their people like the hero out of a saga that Sylvie had once wished she could become. She turns her back, and walks into this strange, beautiful land. Norway. One tiny place on one tiny planet in one insignificant branch of the ever-growing tree of time, where the syllables are shaped into words that resonate with Loki’s voice from so long ago.

Sylvie wanders into pubs, into taverns, into bars, into concerts. She hums the few notes that never leave her head, and hopes to find someone who knows the song.

Until, miraculously, one day, she does.

“It’s an old drinking song,” the bearded man at the bar tells her, gesturing with his beer. “It’s about taking the long way home, but knowing you’ll get there in the end.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Sylvie asks, unblinking, gaze trained on the stranger’s face.

“For that, I will need a lot more beer.”

So she buys him beers. She coaxes the song out of him. She buys rounds for the whole bar, until they are all singing it. They teach her the words in Norwegian, teach her to shape the vowels as carefully as any incantation, and then teach her the meaning behind the words.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

“You, I think,” her drunk bearded acquaintance says to her, “you are the maiden fair.”

“And what if I am?” Sylvie asks, raising her chin, still dead-sober despite the bourbon clutched in her hand.

“Then you must sing for him to come home!”

“From an apple orchard, if you can manage it,” leers his friend next to him.

“Will it work?” she hears herself say.

“Of course it will work! Music is magic. Galdr, they used to call it, in the old religion. The power of your voice to shape reality.” The man is drunk, but his words tug at something in Sylvie’s memory, long buried. “Sing, and he will come home.”

“As simple as that?”

The bearded man laughs uproariously. “When has love ever been simple?” he demands jovially. “When has magic ever been easy? But that does not mean it is not worth trying. There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.” He’s slurring his words, barely managing to stay atop his barstool.

But he’s not wrong.

I know what kind of god I need to be, Loki had said, tears shining in his eyes. For you. For all of us.

But Sylvie is a god, too, she reminds herself, as she tosses back her bourbon and turns her back on the little Norwegian town, with the northern lights rippling over head. She’s not the goddess of chaos anymore, and she hasn’t felt mischievous since she was a child.

But the goddess of galdr, yes, that perhaps is something she could be.

She returns to her little Oklahoma town, cloud cover obliterating the stars, and drives her truck to the record store. There’s only one song she wants to hear, only one voice to sing it, but music has been her comfort since she came to this place, and she cannot simply become the goddess of music-turned-into-magic because she wishes it to be so. Music has been her shield, her cocoon, her comfort these long lonely months. Now she must learn to form it into other shapes, into weapons and tools. Into a lighthouse, shining out into the vast dark of the multiverse.

She taught herself enchantment, while running for her life from one apocalypse to the next. She can teach herself galdr in this quiet little record shop in this quiet little town.

Sylvie slides the headphones into place, and lets the music move through her.

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

But what if she had something? What if she had the one person who would make all of this worth it?

I know what kind of god I need to be, she tells herself. For you, Loki.

She murmurs the words along with the music, infusing them with intent, with magic.

And for one fraction of an instant, she can see him.

He’s alone, on the throne he never wanted, surrounded by the threads of the multiverse, pulsing green as they grow and twist. There is nothing, nothing else, only Loki alone in that vast emptiness, in that expanse of everything that ever was or ever could be.

His eyes are dull, unfocused, far away. And then— a flicker of recognition, a spark of life—

Sylvie loses the connection.

She’s alone on the sofa in the back of the record shop, with Lou Reed singing in her ears.

He ain’t got nothing at all

She drives home. She tries to sleep. She keeps hearing Loki’s voice, keeps seeing him alone in that emptiness. She murmurs into the darkness— not quite a song, not quite a spell—

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

There is a shape to the enormity of what Loki has done. There is an order to the way the branches of the multiverse wrap around each other. It is just outside her grasp, but Sylvie feels that if she could just see the shape of it, she might understand.

She might be able to reach him.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone she whispers to the emptiness of her tiny apartment, in this tiny town, in this little branch of a timeline, one miniscule part of a greater whole, and falls asleep dreaming of trees dancing, of waterfalls stopping, of Loki taking her outside the flow of time to tell her that there was no other way to keep her safe.

Sylvie wakes with her own voice in her ears.

The song is coursing through her, jeg saler min ganger, and she can feel the magic at her fingertips, on the tip of her tongue, pushing at the insides of her ribs, swelling her lungs and begging to be released.

I know what kind of god I need to be.

She gets into her truck and drives. North and east, away from everything she knows, vaguely towards those northern lights dancing over the fjords, too far away to reach on roads such as these.

But once upon a time, when she was very young, there was another road. A rainbow road, the Bifrost, that could take her anywhere just like magic.

Every bit of magic she has now she has taught herself. And this, too, this song swelling in her chest, is magic of her own making.

There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.

She drives past fields of wheat and fields of corn, through days and nights, with the glare of the sun or the pattering of the rain against the windshield. Sylvie drives and drives and drives, and keeps the song tucked away inside her, growing in fury like a hurricane in a bottle, like the storm that had raged outside the night they met.

She drives until the scent of apples wafts through the open windows of the truck, and then she pulls over, knowing this was her destination all along.

Iðunn, a childhood memory whispers, too long ago now to have any meaning at all. The apples of eternity.

Home she thinks, and then hears, from a memory not her own:

Asgard’s not a place, it’s a people.

This could be Asgard. Asgard is where our people stand.

Her brother’s voice. The voice of the man who had once raised her as his daughter. The family she lost and can never regain, no matter what shape the multiverse twists itself into. Words reaching across time, across branching timelines, to reach her here and now, because it is what she needs to hear.

Sylvie climbs out of her truck and walks into the apple orchard and doesn’t look back.

She walks until she can no longer see the road from between the trunks and branches. She walks until there is nothing but the smell of apples, the soil under foot, and the sky over head. She walks until the song finally bursts out of her, all of her desperation and loneliness flooding out of her lungs to shake the very air around her, in the shape of words that are his but also hers, now.

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home!”

And then he is there, standing beside her in the sunshine and the scent of the apple orchard. Loki glances around at the trees dancing in the wind, his eyes bright, before his gaze snaps to hers.

“You’re here,” Sylvie croaks, her voice burned through with the force of the magic that poured out of her, the magic that’s brought Loki to her.

“No, not really,” he says, his eyes never still as they trace over her face. “I’m still there too. I’m sort of everywhere, really. It’s hard to explain.”

“Help me to understand,” she says before the words even have the chance to fade away. “You said you knew what kind of god you needed to be. You saved us, you saved everything, and then you disappeared. Make me understand.”

“I can’t, Sylvie,” Loki says gently, and there is a sorrow in his eyes deeper than oceans, more boundless than the vastness of space. “It’s been centuries for me. Lifetimes. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Enchant me, he had begged her once, standing in the McDonald’s parking lot in his ridiculous TVA uniform. You can see what I saw.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells him, raising her hands slowly towards his face, green magic flickering between her fingers. “Just let me see what you saw.”

“Sylvie,” he starts, and there are tears in his eyes again, like there were in that last moment before he turned his back on her to destroy the Loom.

“We’re the same, remember?” she says, and if her voice cracks it is only because of the abuse it’s suffered, only because of the magic that poured out through her vocal chords to shape reality to her desires. “You shouldn’t have to bear this burden alone, Loki,” she tells him, with as much tenderness as she can force into her ruined voice. “Let me understand.”

“It was the only way,” he says, as if in warning, but Sylvie cups his face in her hands before the tears can fall from his eyes.

Centuries. Lifetimes. The same day, over and over again. Reality unspooling, starting with Victor Timely and ending with her, again and again. Their fight in the Citadel at the end of time, relived hundreds of times, always with the same ending. Always the death of He Who Remains, and the unraveling of everything, failure after failure after failure.

And yet in all of them, she does not kiss him. And he cannot bring himself to kill her. Until only one choice remains.

I know what kind of god I need to be. For you.

Sylvie watches in Loki’s memory as the temporal radiation burns away his TVA uniform, as his magic replaces it with something older, something primal, something true. She watches as he grasps the decaying branches of the multiverse and breathes life into them, wills them to live, to be whole and part of a whole.

She watches as the branches twist around each other, each variation of the timeline finding support in its neighbors, building into something greater than the sum of every moment of every timeline that has ever existed.

She sees the shape of what Loki has done, the enormous, infinite tree dancing in the nothingness outside of time. Yggdrasil, the worldstree, green and glowing, alive and growing, all because Loki willed it so. To restore freewill and safeguard it forever. For all of us.

His hands cover hers and Loki gently pries her fingers away from his face. “Enough, Sylvie. Enough. I know what I’ve done.”

There are tears on her face, the apple-scented wind plucking at the wetness as she stands there, staring at Loki. Even without the enchantment, she can see him sitting on his throne, alone but for the infinite tree he tends.

“It was the only way?” she asks in the ruins of her voice. It is only when he folds his hands around hers that she realizes she is shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Not like dancing. Like shattering, collapsing in on herself with the weight of what he’s done.

“No,” Loki admits. “There was one other way. I could have left He Who Remains in charge. I could have let the TVA go back to pruning the timelines. But I would have had to kill you. I would have had to kill you with my own hands, and watch as you died, and then betray everything you ever believed in. I lived every variation of every action I could possibly change, but not that one. Not that.”

“You don’t even know me,” Sylvie blurts out before the words have fully formed in her mind. All of this, to save her? She cannot, she cannot—

Loki’s expressive face twists, stung by her words, hurt in this moment even beyond the deep sorrow that he wears like a cloak. “Of course I know you,” he says, wounded, his gaze searching her face. “Like I’ve never known anyone. Sylvie, I lov—”

She surges up onto her toes and kisses him, there among the apple trees. She kisses him for what he’s done, for what he refused to do. She kisses him for the loneliness they have both known far too much of, she kisses him for coming when she sang for him to come home. She kisses him because there is nothing else she can do, because there was never any other way for her, either.

And Loki kisses her in return, with a desperation borne of years, centuries, lifetimes of facing this alone. He kisses her in the apple garden, as the trees dance and the waterfalls stand still. He is there, kissing her, but also somewhere else, far away and outside time, tending to the tree that he gave his life to save.

“I can’t stay,” he says when they finally part, pressing his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her jaw in an echo of how she had enchanted him moments before. “I want to stay, more than anything, Sylvie, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“I know,” she assures him, even as she clutches at his robes for fear he will disappear at any moment. “I know you can’t stay here with me,” she says, then takes a deep breath to steady her ragged voice, her thundering heart. “But you don’t have to be alone.”

Loki pulls away abruptly, only far enough to see her face, confusion pinching his features.

“We’re gods, you said,” Sylvie explains, tripping over her words, her voice trembling with the weight of what she has already done, the weight of what she plans to do. “We have a responsibility. That’s what you told me, in that ridiculous room full of pie. We can’t just give everyone freewill and then walk away.” She offers him a small smile, the best she can summon at the current moment. “You have to sustain Yggdrasil. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I did this for you,” he says, holding on to her as desperately as she is clutching at him. “So you could have a life. That’s what you said you wanted, to live.”

“It’s freewill, Loki,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t just give it to everyone and then be surprised when I use it to choose to be with you. I know what kind of god I need to be. You taught me that. I won’t let you bear this burden alone. That’s the kind of god I choose to be.”

“I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for me—”

“The only sacrifice would be giving you up.”

He gazes at her for a long moment, his uncertainty slowly transforming, then sings softly, “I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,” and this time Sylvie understands the words. “Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem. I eplehagen står møyen den vene, og synger: ‘når kommer du hjem?’”

The apple orchard dissolves around them, replaced by the rippling greens and blues and purples of Yggdrasil, shimmering in the darkness outside of time.

“Home,” Sylvie says, and kisses him again.

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happyfartman · 7 months

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They stoped their fight to help Izzy, they saw how fucked he was and immediately helped him. I can't do this anymore why are they so perfect ????

#im cryin #our flag means death #izzy hands #revenge crew #i love them #spoilers for season 2 #ofmd season 2

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exquisitefrogprince · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tiger & Bunny Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Barnaby "Bunny" Brooks Jr./Kaburagi T. Kotetsu, Ryan Goldsmith & Karina Lyle Characters: Barnaby "Bunny" Brooks Jr., Kaburagi T. Kotetsu, Ryan Goldsmith, Karina Lyle Additional Tags: Complicated Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Therapy, Post-Season/Series 02, Suggestive Themes, Touching Summary:

Letting his head fall back, Ryan let out a sigh, then turned back around in his chair. Barnaby was already gone by that point, having made a beeline for the elevator with his bag slung over his arm and legs moving as quickly as possible with the slight limp he always had by this point in the day. “That’s what I’m saying, Princess. He usually does stay late. Finishing paperwork, signing autographs, you know.”

Reaching for the energy drink he’d been working his way through for the past half hour, he jerked it towards her while poking a finger in her direction. “Every day except today. This time, every week, he’s out of here right on time. Like clockwork. Not even a minute late. Not once.” ----------------------------- My entry for the @tnbsecretsanta23 gift exchange! Happy holidays, @snoopsmcbee !

#My writing #tnbsecretsanta23 #spoilers for season 2 #tiger and bunny #taibani #kotetsu t. kaburagi #barnaby brooks jr #ryan goldsmith #karina lyle

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tiltedsyllogism · 1 year

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has this been done already

#for all mankind #barbie movie meme #moon show #spoilers for season 2 #sort of I guess #in this more optimistic timeline #major cultural events take place sooner

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keelywolfe · 9 months

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Summary: Muriel hasn't been on Earth very long but she is learning quickly. Some things, though, she's known for a very long time.

Tags: Aziraphale/Crowley, POV Outsider, Muriel, Season 2 Spoilers, Ineffable Husbands, Ineffable Idiots, Angst

#good omens fanfiction #spoilers for season 2 #keelywolfe

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dogsinspaceandyou · 2 years

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This might be a doozy, but could you do dating Pepper headcanons?

Yesss, Pepper is my girl, haha.

Dating Pepper headcanons:

Being one of the bigger dogs on the M-Bark, Pepper likes to pick you up whenever she can. When you first started dating, she'd always ask permission but now she knows when it's okay to do so. She just really likes to hold you close without having to get on her knees every time. Also she loves to use you struggling to get something from a high shelf as a way to pick you up by the waist. (Benefits of a tall girlfriend!)

Pepper is very matter-of-fact with her words. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything. It took a while to get used to, but you’ve come to prefer her honesty. It really makes her compliments even more nice because you know they’re all true.

Dates usually consist of you napping with your head on her lap while she uploads new data, hanging out in the diner and, on really good days, messing around with her hologram program to find the weirdest scenarios. They're very lowkey and the two of you really enjoy them.

There are three ways you and Pepper sleep together; with her being the big spoon and holding you close, with you laying on top of her, and with you two holding hands in your sleep.

Despite learning not to analyze everything, Pepper can't help but use her skills to keep you from getting seriously hurt. You don't mind it as long as she doesn't treat you like you're fragile.

#dogs in space #dogs in space netflix #dogs in space headcanons #dogs in space x reader #dis pepper x reader #spoilers for season 2 #pepper is another favorite character of mine #i love her so much

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littlestlake · 7 months

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alice in borderland is getting a season 3 and i am insane therefore i will be rewatching season 1+2

#i binged the whole thing in like 3 days when i watched it the first time #and i was obsessed #spoilers for season 2 #alice in borderland spoilers #the fakeout they did with Mira was brilliant #bc i was ENRAGED while watching thinking that after everything #it was gonna end with a cop-out #but it didn’t! and it was great!#also i refuse to read the manga #bc if anything like that happens again i wanna get the full experience #idk i have very high expectations for this season #and i hope it lives up to them #alice in borderland #alice in borderland season 3

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deansurvived · 8 months

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The Start of a Fix-It-Fic (SPOILERS S2)

Crowley watched the lift doors slide close and the light slowly fade away before he slammed the Bentley’s door with a curse. Six thousand years. Six thousand. The pair had quite literally watched the world be formed, taken on Heaven and Hell alike, survived a bloody apocalypse, and his angel- no, the angel- had simply walked away. Crowley could feel the pain disguised as anger creeping into every piece of his being, and he began to walk back and forth in front of the book shop.

“How could he think- when have I ever said-”

As Crowley paced, storms brewed up. It was rare that he got this riled up. Oh, anger was something he was used to; Hell was full of it. But this? It was fueled by a pain he had never experienced since the dawn of time itself, and it was causing quite the ruckus.

“An angel again? Me? After what they did?”

Leaves and rubbish swirled on the street as the wind whipped itself into a fury. Lightning skirted across the sky and thunder boiled up in angry rumbles. All across the street, patrons rushed to get into buildings, as chairs and awnings blew away in great gusts. Nina, hard-headed as ever, poked her head around the doorway of her shop and saw Crowley pacing in the weather.

“Mr. Crowley! Mr. Crowley!” Nina shouted at him, but he made no notice of her.

She bolted out the door, dodging a flying umbrella, and grasped him by the arm.

“Stop it!” she shouted, and Crowley whipped around to see her.

“He’s gone!” he shouted back, as if that would explain anything at all, and understanding crossed Nina’s face as the sky opened up and rain flooded the street.

“And?” she yelled. “And so what if he has? Would you bring your idiotic self inside and quit trying to kill us all?”

Crowley looked around, momentarily surprised at the storm he had created. He took a great lungful of air and let it out, willing his body and mind to cool down. As much as he wanted to continue to rage, it wasn’t these people he was angry at. He wanted to save his wrath for the ones who needed it. And Heaven help the ones who needed it. The wind calmed and the rain slowed to a steady drizzle before drying up entirely.

“Alright,” Nina said firmly, sopping wet and doing her best to compose herself. “Best if you come in for some coffee, then.”

“I don’t want a coffee, I want-”

“Six shots of espresso in a large cup. Even if I struggled to remember orders, I don’t think I would forget that one.”

Nina led the way across the road, which was slowly beginning to fill back up from the shoppers who had sprinted into the various shops to hide from the storm. She directed Crowley to an armchair in the corner, and ushered the last few patrons in her store out before flipping the sign to closed.

“So,” she began, as she finished up Crowley’s drink and brought it to him. “I take it that Mr. Fell didn’t respond the way you had hoped.”

She sat in a loveseat across from the recliner and looked at Crowley as one would an interesting painting.

“Does it look like he responded well?” Crowley spat.

“You very nearly took out the entire city of London,” Nina pushed on when it looked like Crowley was about to interrupt. “Don’t bother with an excuse. I don’t know what you are, but it’s not as though you’ve tried to hide it at all.”

“And yet you ran up to me and yelled at me,” Crowley replied. “Not very smart.”

“You’ve had ample opportunities to hurt me and never have. Besides, you were making a mess and I just installed the awning last week, which I cannot afford to replace right now.”

And now a simple human wasn’t even afraid of him. Wonderful, he thought. He had failed at being both an angel and a demon. Crowley sank back in his chair looking utterly defeated. There was a small tinkling noise, and both glanced at the door to see Maggie had walked in.

“Hello,” she said quietly. “Quite the storm, that was. I…I wanted to check in?”

Nina glanced at Crowley quickly, then stood.

“Let me make you your drink. I think we could all use one.”

As Nina made to move to the counter, she gave a subtle nod toward Crowley, who was silently staring into his drink through his dark glasses. Maggie raised her eyebrows in an unasked question, and Nina shook her head sadly.

“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “Is everything alright with Mr. Fell?”

“Oh, Satan, not you too,” he groaned, and dropped his head back. “Listen, I’m not some heartbroken teenager. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, I expect you will,” Maggie paused, then continued. “Time does heal all wounds, as they say.”

“Yes, well, I’m not sure if it works on beings who existed before time itself,” Crowley downed his coffee in one go and sat the empty cup on the table, twirling it around for something to do with his hands.

Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death! Est. 2004

“2004?” Crowley asked as Nina rejoined them with Maggie’s drink. “Odd. I never met you before, and I’ve been around London for far longer than that.”

“I bought the place off a bloke last year,” Nina responded. “I’m not a legacy owner like Maggie.”

“Legacy? How long has your shop been here?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, ages,” Maggie said with a wave of her hand. “My grandmother opened it when she was my age. That’s why Mr. Fell lets me stay, you see. He knew her quite well.”

Crowley paused at that.

“Did he?”

“Of course! That’s where most of the records in his book shop came from. After all, our shop was always the premiere one in London! We’ve always had every new release, right on schedule.”

“I see,” Crowley drummed his fingers across the table. “And Mr. Fell would be in line for these new releases?”

Nina watched the pair with contemplation. Something was going on, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.

“Of course not! She would save a copy for him and bring it over directly after the shop closed. She’d sit with him to listen, and they came to know each other so well.”

“Ah. Lovely old Gran!” Crowley smiled, a forced, toothy thing, which caused Maggie to pause.

“Y-yes. Well, I had better be going. Don’t want to leave my shop for too long. Thank you for the drink, Nina,” she said, standing and giving a small smile to the other woman.

“Any time,” Nina replied, and Maggie truly did smile at that, walking toward and out the door with a skip to her step.

“What was that about?” Nina asked the instant the door had closed behind her, still wringing water from her shirt.

“I have brought him every record that’s in that shop,” Crowley frowned. “And there’s nothing written within the past hundred years. Nothing. I know Aziraphale; he would never listen to pop music.”

“Couldn’t he have other interests?” Nina asked. “Just because he didn’t tell you doesn’t mean he didn’t like it.”

“He didn’t have to tell me, I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Crowley snapped. “I know him better than anyone else.”

“We aren’t characters in a play, Mr. Crowley,” Nina replied sternly. “Mr. Fell may have had interests outside of your friendship.”

“Please,” Crowley rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled back. “As though someone would write a character based on…on…oh. Oh your God, I’m an idiot.”

Crowley stood at once and strode to the door.

“You’re just going to leave me in this state?” Nina shouted at him.

He barely glanced over his shoulder at her, but raised his arm and flicked his wrist, causing her hair and clothes to dry out to a pleasant warmth as he let the door of the shop close behind him.

“Whatever he is, at least he’s useful.”

#good omens #fix it fic #ineffable husbands #spoilers for season 2 #obviously

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